


you're looking in the wrong place (for my love)

by an_ardent_rain



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hair Washing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 02, Shower Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/an_ardent_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he says.  He strokes the outside of her knees, rough, with the pads of his thumbs, and when he speaks he’s so close she can almost feel the scrape of his teeth against her.  “What you’re getting yourself into.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're looking in the wrong place (for my love)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short ficlet, maybe like 700 words or so, but I just kind of.... kept writing. Did you know i can pinpoint the exact moment I started shipping this. I'd liked them together but I was telling myself it was just because of the ~interesting dynamic~ and then in the diner Frank asked about her gun and WHOOPS I GUESS THIS IS HAPPENING, out of the dumpster I arose like aphrodite from the sea, I was shipping trash.
> 
> I think almost every fic I read had Frank showing up injured or breaking into Karen's apartment - so naturally that's exactly what I wrote. So early and we already have a trope.
> 
> Also, there is... hair washing? I have no idea what I was thinking that just... happened. ::sweats::
> 
> Title from wRoNg by Zayn.

Her stomach goes sour at the sight of him. He is halfway to broken and his torso is red like a piece of meat: bloody and raw. 

“Shit,” he says, pulling a piece of glass out of his side. He hisses in pain and Karen’s hands tremble around her cup of lukewarm coffee. Frank will probably want some when he’s through. She needs to make another pot. She needs to get more gauze or more rubbing alcohol or take him to a hospital, grab a fucking nurse off the street, she needs to do something - something - because sitting here watching him and being unable to do anything makes her chest ache, makes her ribs feel like they’re caught in a vice.

“Do you need anything?” She asks, for the third time since he’d arrived. She bites her lip and doesn’t let him answer. “I could make some more coffee.”

“Yeah, coffee’d be good,” he says. He doesn’t sound anything but normal, his voice as gruff as ever, unaffected by the wound he’s cleaning out in her tiny bathroom. But normal for Frank is not normal - this is normal for Frank, his voice tired and rough, because he’s always in pain. 

Karen stands and turns so she can’t see him anymore. She sets her mug down on a coaster on the coffee table and takes the few steps it takes to carry her to the kitchen. She stares at her coffee maker, listening to Frank grunt and swear. Her hands curl over the edge of her counterop and she licks her dry, cracked lips and tells herself she has to breathe. 

There are heavy footfalls behind her and she spins around and sees Frank step out into the small, darkened hallway that leads from the bathroom to the living room. His elbow is on her bedroom door and his pants are unbuttoned, hanging low on narrow, dirty hips. There’s a long, thin cut that goes from above his navel to below his belt. She doesn’t know where it ends. 

“Looks better,” she says. He’s whole, somehow, and free of foreign objects, one side of his body worlds cleaner than the other. “You got all the glass out, I see. Easier than bullets, right?”

He snorts and says “Gonna use your shower before I wrap this up. I’m a fuckin’ mess and I don’t want this shit all over me getting into the wound. Infection.” He shrugs and raises one eyebrow, chin jutting out as he lifts his head to stare at her.

Karen wraps her arms around herself and tries to smile. “I… don’t have anything for you to wear,” she says. His shirt was ruined before he got to her place and he could put those same pants on but for God’s sake why would he want to.

“Got clothes on now, don’t I?” He asks. “An’ I can get another shirt.”

He waits for an answer for another moment then turns and goes back into the bathroom when one doesn’t come. She hears the door click shut and a second later the water turn on.

He’s here and he’s real, and Karen wants to believe he’s safe. She knows she’s safe with him, even if someone followed him, even if someone knows he’s there - Frank Castle is one man, but he brings the might of armies. She should be afraid of him, she thinks. Hate him, maybe. Judge him, at least. And maybe tomorrow she will. Maybe she’ll wake up and he will be dead to her again - as though he ever was the first time. But for now she’s going to listen to him wash what blood off himself he can and she’s going to make him a goddamn cup of coffee and make sure he gets a little bit of sleep. She feels calm, resolved, and she pours the water in her coffee maker and then spoons out the grounds into the flimsy white filter.

As the coffee percolates she watches TV with the volume muted. Frank’s shower shuts off and she listens while telling herself she isn’t. But he doesn’t come out. She pulls her feet onto the couch and hugs her knees to her chest and waits. Then the coffee’s done and she takes two clean mugs down from her creaky cabinet and sets them on the counter. They’re both plain and red and she pours a splash of coffee into each. Frank takes his black, she thinks, and inhales the warm, earthy scent of it, smoke curling into her nostrils. It’s strong and bitter and heat radiates, making the air around it warm. Karen takes the handle and stares towards the bathroom. 

She takes a few steps forward.

“Frank,” she says, though she’s not sure he’ll be able to hear her. She walks until she’s outside the door. She knocks twice with the knuckles of her left hand. “Frank. Coffee’s ready.” She listens to the ambient New York noise outside for a few long moments. “Are you coming out?”

When he doesn’t answer she turns the knob and pushes open the door.

Frank stands in front of the mirror, his hands clasped tight to the edge her porcelain sink. The air is humid and warm from the shower still and he doesn’t look up when the door swings open. He stares down at his hands and blood drips from his wounds down onto the old tile floor she can never seem to get completely clean.

Karen’s breath leaves her and she looks down the length of his body. He is a map of exposed skin, dewy and new, a cartographic series of scars that she does not know how to read. His legs are corded muscle and pillars of tight strength. His calves are covered in dark hair and she can’t look away from the breadth of his thighs.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He asks. He doesn’t look up.

“I brought you coffee. You didn’t… answer when I called.”

She wonders how he’d handle this invasion of privacy on a normal night. She wonders how many people have seen him like this: nude, vulnerable. Frank Castle, maybe, but not the Punisher. She wonders if there’s a difference, and she wonders why he doesn’t seem vulnerable at all.

“Set it down and go, then. I gotta get this bandaged up.”

She puts his coffee down on the tank of the toilet. “Let me help you.”

“No.”

“Frank, let me - “

 

“I said no.” He barks at her, his words sharp as knives, and he and looks up. Their eyes meet in the mirror. “Get the fuck out, Karen, I c’n do this on my own.”

Her face crumples and she covers her mouth with her hand. She takes a step back, her whole body tingling, breaking out in gooseflesh. No, she can’t be spiralling, not like this - and she doesn’t even know why, can’t explain why her breath won’t come, why her hands shake and her head starts to swim. Panic, she thinks. I’m panicking. She falls down onto the edge of the tub and sits, hyperventilating. 

“What the fuck,” Frank says. And he doesn’t sound worried but he looks it. He grabs his filthy black pants and says “Couldn’t even wait until I had some fucking pants on, huh? I’m goddamn naked over here, my dick hanging out, and you want - what? - to have a fainting spell or some shit?”

“You don’t have to.” She takes a deep breath and clenches her hands into fists in her lap. “Not on my account, you don’t have to… To get dressed right away if you don’t want to. I know you have some first aid to finish up.” Her head dips down and her hair swings around her face, blocking him from view. “I should… I should go. I brought you coffee.” She rubs her palms against her thighs. “I wouldn’t have come in, but you didn’t answer and you… You looked so bad when you came in. I just need to see you, to…”

“Shit, Karen, you don’t gotta check up on me. Not gonna die from something like this.”

“Sorry.” 

She stands up and looks over at him. He’s looking at her, too, his eyes dark and his mouth like a wound. He’s still holding his pants and they cover most of him from the waist down. His chest looks better without the skull on it, she thinks, when it’s bare, when she can see his navel and the taut muscle of his abdomen and the coarse hair that covers his chest. He looks so powerful, built like a predator, animal as much as man. His shoulders are broad and his arms are thick and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows under her gaze. Heat rises in her body and she feels a twinge of embarrassment for the first time since she opened the bathroom door. She and Frank aren’t even in the same world, not really, but seeing him naked, in her apartment, makes him seem closer than he’s ever seemed before.

He isn’t something she ever thought she would let herself want. But here he is primal and beautiful and he is, for a short moment, hers - like a wounded animal she brought to temporary shelter. Can he tell how she feels? Can he hear her heartbeat, or sense the throb between her legs? Is he as aware of her as she is of him, her skin too sensitive and her breasts suddenly heavy? She wants and she doesn’t know how to ask for it - for him. She’s not even sure if she should.

“Why don’t you go back. Wait out in the kitchen. I’ll get dressed and we can have that coffee.”

Karen doesn’t move. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She opens them again and doesn’t look at Frank. She turns and grabs the shower curtain, pulls it towards her. “Hope you didn’t use all the hot water,” she says, turning the shower on.

“Uh. No, ma’am, I did not - now you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

“You’re still bloody,” she says, and lifts a hand toward him. Her fingers tremble and she curls them back before they make contact. “We need to clean that up.”

“I can clean that up my own damn self, don’t need help from you.”

She counts to three in her head and the grabs the elastic waistband of her pants and pulls them down. He inhales sharply and she steps out of them, shaking them off her foot. “Didn’t do it right the first time,” she says. She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off. “It’s okay, Frank, we all need some supervision sometimes.” She sticks her hand under the water, testing the temperature.

Frank growls and she can feel the heat of him as he moves closer. “Supervision?” He says, and he sounds angry. She turns to look at him, eyes wide, and his teeth are clenched together, a vein visible in his neck. “Tell me right now what the hell you think you’re doing, girl, because I don’t need supervision and I don’t need you to patch me up and I sure as hell don’t need you there standing half naked in front of me. Put your goddamn clothes back on and get the fuck out.”

She meets his eyes and finds she cannot look away. He’s angry in a way she’s never seen him before. His breathing speeds up and she can practically taste him, he’s so close now, the scent of him heady and masculine and overwhelming. “No,” she says. “I’m not leaving.”

She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. She slides it down her arms, but Frank’s eyes don’t leave her face. It drops on the floor next to her shirt and she shivers as she tucks her thumbs into her lacy panties. She tugs them down over her ass and they slide down her thighs. She bends down to push them over her knees and Frank is so close she could nearly kiss his stomach. She’s naked, completely, when she straightens up but his eyes find hers immediately. She’s not sure if he looked down at all, he’s holding himself so stiff. Her skin feels too tight and she wants Frank to look at her. There’s steam escaping from the shower but she knows that isn’t why she feels so warm. Karen isn’t sure what she’s doing, isn’t sure what she hopes to accomplish, what she thought she’d accomplish by coming in here with him and stripping down. She’s so small compared to him, so pale. She feels weak. 

“You can help me wash my back if you want,” she says, feeling stupid. But bold - she may be weak and stupid but she is not afraid.

“An’ what,” he says, his voice gone so soft she’s half sure she imagined it. “You’ll help me wash mine?”

“If that’s what you want, Frank. Otherwise.” She swallows and draws the shower curtain back far enough to step into the tub. “You should drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“Huh.” He runs his tongue over his teeth and then presses his lips together hard and nods. “Is that what I should do?” His voice is still so quiet. “Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good cup of fucking coffee, lettin’ it get cold. I like it hot an’ black.” His eyes narrow and he says “Why don’t you get in that shower now.”

She shouldn’t feel relieved, she thinks, but she does, and she does as he suggests.

She steps under the spray and lets the water run down her shoulders and back, lets it cover her face. And then Frank pulls the curtain aside and steps in behind her. He yanks the shower curtain closed and moves closer, crowding her towards the wall. She turns to look at him. He stretches his neck out and opens his mouth wide, letting water pool on his tongue. He spits it out and looks at her, eyes guarded. “Hand me the shampoo.”

When she does, he puts a heavy hand on her shoulder and helps her turn around. It’s the first time he’s touched her and it sets her nerves on fire. He grabs her hair in one big handful and smooths it through his fist.

“Frank, are you…” She swallows, tries to draw the words out of her throat. His hands are in her hair now, covered in lather, gently working it through the sopping lanks of her hair. Her voice cracks and all she can manage is a whisper. “What are you doing?”

“What’d you think I was coming in here for?” He moves closer, his body pressing against hers. One hand cups the back of her neck and piles her hair up on top of her head. The bubbly lather slides down her forehead, and then her cheek. “Close your eyes,” Frank says. “Need to rinse.”

Karen obeys. Frank turns her around again to face him, and tips her chin up with one thick knuckle. She breathes through her nose and lets him stroke through her hair. His thumb runs across her cheek, catches for barely a moment on her bottom lip; she doesn’t know if it was on purpose or not.

“All done.”

Karen opens her eyes and Frank’s looking at her, eyes fixed on her face, his expression between bemused and… tender, she thinks, her heart pumping blood in her ears, pounding faster against the cage of her chest. She wants to know what he tastes like when he looks at her like that, how his mouth feels when it’s fit against hers. “Your turn,” she says. “Please. I mean… If you want.”

“If you want,” Frank says.

And Karen doesn’t look away from him when she says “Yeah, I do.”

He hands her the bottle from where he’d set it on the little shelf suction cupped in the corner. Their hands don’t touch and she’s disappointed, but the anticipation of touching him in just a moment makes it hard for her fingers to even grip it. He puts a hand on the tile and sinks slowly to his knees. He grabs her legs right above her knees to steady himself and one corner of his mouth rises. He licks his lips and ducks his heads and he’s so close to her Karen starts to tremble.

She pours a thick puddle of her floral-scented shampoo into her palm. Frank presses closer until his forehead is against her hip. She bites her lip hard and rubs shampoo into the rough, stubbly cut of his hair. There are only three points of contact between them, but Karen can feel it everywhere, her body lit up and alive. 

“Frank,” she sighs and he grips her tighter.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he says. He strokes the outside of her knees, rough with the pads of his thumbs, and when he speaks he’s so close she can almost feel the scrape of his teeth against her. “What you’re getting yourself into.” He opens his mouth wider against her and she can feel his tongue - fuck, she thinks, grabbing as big a handful of hair as she can and tugging. He closes his mouth in a bite against her thigh and he growls as her muscle spasms. Karen moans. “Shit,” he says. “Karen, I’m. I wanna do this, okay? I don’t know what you meant by barging in on me and I’m pretty sure this is a bad fucking idea, but hell.” He kisses her hip with a hot, open mouth, and lets his lips drag down towards the heat between her legs. “If you want to let me fuck you up I’m not gonna be able to say no.”

“Then say yes, Frank. You can do this, I’m not going to break.”

He pushes her gently until she’s against the tile, crowded in the corner. And the he leans down, licks a stripe up her thigh, and presses a tongue to her center. There’s nothing to grab onto except him so she keeps a hold on his hair. She lets out a dry sob as he lifts a leg over his shoulder, opening her up.

“Let me hear how much you like it,” he says. “Ain’t gotta keep quiet for my sake.” Frank presses the tip of his tongue against her clit and runs his hand, big and rough, along the meat of her thigh.

“Frank,” she whines, “please, I… Fuck.”

And he laughs darkly against her and doesn’t let her go until she comes against his mouth.

Karen shakes with the aftershocks, fingers releasing their grip on his hair and carding through it gently. Frank bows his head and lets her leg fall off his shoulder. He grabs her hips for leverage as he stands. He doesn’t let go.

“Water’s getting cold.”

She turns it off and says “Not anymore.”

He’s looking at her again with that same expression - bemused and something she thinks she imagined as tender. His eyes track down her body and she sees the heat when it blooms in them as his gaze passes over her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. She wants to kiss him - aches for it - but when she reaches for him he stops her, a hand firm around her wrist.

He’s hard and she can tell by the way he’s looking at her he wants her. Karen wants to ask him to stay, take him into her bed and her body. She’d never thought of him as handsome - he is, but whatever magnetism had drawn her to him had nothing to do with that.

Frank’s physicality now is overwhelming - he’s so close, so large, the hard, muscle-packed mass of him dangerous and arousing.

“Let go,” she says, tugging against his hold. He does, and locks his eyes on hers. They’re shaded with indecision and she shivers, wondering what he’s thinking, what he wants, what he has to decide --

And then his eyes move down to her mouth.

Space evaporates between them as he curls an arm around her waist and jerks her body into his. She wraps an arm around his neck, closing her eyes and licking into his mouth as it closes over hers. 

“Up,” he growls, trying to tug her higher. She bounces up and he catches the back of her thighs, pulling her legs around his waist.

“Jesus, Frank.”

“Hold on,” he says against her mouth. Karen presses her face into the side of his neck as he steps out of the tub, the curtain trailing over their shoulders. He noses against her, nudging her up to find her mouth again. They make it as far as her bedroom door. It’s shut and Karen thinks idly about grappling for the knob, or asking Frank to do it, but he just backs her up against the door and makes a noise of rumbling contentment as he draws her bottom lip between his teeth.

He pulls away from her a little and slides his hand between her legs. His fingers spread her open and one dips inside. He kisses a line up to her ear and tugs on the lobe. “Wanna be inside you,” he says, thrusting his hips. She whimpers. “I want to fuck you so hard you don’t walk straight for days, you think of me every time you sit down, every time you move.”

“Yes,” she breathes, grinding against him. Yes, she wants him more than anything in this moment, more than she can ever remember wanting before. The door holds her up and he slides his fingers out of her and grabs his cock to guide it in.

He feels huge inside her and her body throbs as he pushes further. Her legs squeeze his waist and she digs her nails into his back. His teeth clamp down on her shoulder and Karen throws her head back, knocking against the door, her neck long and pale. Frank kisses along her clavicle, then dips his head down to mouth at her breast. He sucks her nipple as his body starts to move, in and out of hers.

“Fuck, Frank, that’s…”

“Good, right? Shit.” He kisses her again, hard and fast, and she curls her tongue greedily around his. “Karen,” he says, and his hips snap. She cries out, still sensitive from her first orgasm, and arches her back. “Fuck. Karen,” he says again, kissing her.

She clings to him, dragging her nails across his shoulders. “Harder, Frank, please,” she says all in a breath, her belly tight with a hot, liquid pleasure. “Please.” A rush of feeling hits her, and she’s close, she’s so close to the edge.

With a snarl he pumps into her, losing all restraint, fast and hard and holding nothing back. “Karen,” he pants. His mouth is open, pressed to hers, unable to actually kiss her and slack from exertion. “Karen.”

“Frank,” she says, running a hand up the back of his head. She scratches gently at his scalp and breathes into his mouth. She’s surrounded by him, he’s all she can feel, see, smell. A wave builds inside her and she thrashes against him, moving her hips, trying desperately to reach that inevitable climax. She pinches a nipple and then snakes her hand down to play with her clit.

Frank groans, rhythm faltering. “Karen,” he says again, just her name, and he sounds desperate and needy and she’s about to explode. His lips move toward her cheek in a wet slide and that’s it, that’s enough.

She cries out as she comes, digging her heel into the small of his back, holding him as close as she can. She lets out a dry sob, then his name, and she rides the wave down until he’s coming, too, a wet pulse inside her as he presses her harder against the door and growls something that feels profane against the soft, still-damp skin of her face.

They’re still breathing hard when he pulls out of her and lets her down. She feels shaky, a hollow bubble in her stomach and a tingling in her limbs. Frank’s side is bleeding a little and she looks down and sees his blood smeared on the inside of her leg.

“You need to get cleaned up,” he says finally. “And I need to take care of this.”

“There’s gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet,” she offers. She feels light-headed, and suddenly more sure of herself. “If you need help - “

“I got it,” he says quickly. He wipes his mouth. “You should get cleaned up and go to bed.”

“Okay,” she says. She pushes her hair behind her ears. “I’m going to go put my pajamas on. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Frank nods, and she doesn’t look at his scars, or the streaks of blood on his side, or the heavy weight of his dick between his legs. She looks in his eyes and tries to smile, and then opens her bedroom door and disappears inside. 

There’s a towel hanging on her closet door, so she wipes herself off and then squeezes out her hair. Even though she probably needs another shower she feels scoured out and scrubbed clean. Her body aches, but it’s a full feeling. Not unpleasant. She pulls on a big t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear, then grabs the biggest shirt she has for Frank.

When she steps out of her room Frank has his pants on, and the vest with the painted on skull is laying across the back of her couch. “Here,” she says, throwing the shirt over to him. It’s made for a man, though she can’t remember who it belonged to, or if she bought it for herself. “And. Don’t tell me you can get another one, just take the damn shirt, all right? It was too big for me anyway, I only slept in it.”

“All right,” he agrees. He puts it on and then pulls on his socks and starts lacing up his boots. He gathers up all his things and and he’s dressed and ready to bolt, standing at her front door. “Thanks for… the coffee,” he says.

“And the shirt,” she supplies, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah. And the shirt.” He stares for a long moment and then raises one hand up. “Goodnight. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.” She watches him nod and then leave without another look back. She goes into the bathroom and gets the coffee mug and pours it out. Then she turns out her lights and goes to bed, stretching out across the mattress without pulling the covers down. “Goodnight,” she says again, to empty air. She falls asleep alone, and she doesn’t remember her dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://librarian-repellent.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi.
> 
> Am I currently working on a Frank/Karen sex-pollen longfic... ? The world may never know.


End file.
